


Through Waves and Clouds and Storms

by slightlyjillian



Series: Tourniquet [3]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-24
Updated: 2010-01-24
Packaged: 2017-10-06 16:10:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlyjillian/pseuds/slightlyjillian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-EW. Part of the <i>Tourniquet</i> universe, chronologically just after chapter six. Nichol learns the value of reading the things to which he signs his name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through Waves and Clouds and Storms

**Author's Note:**

> fills prompt #68 on my Nichol-100 challenge to write lots of Nichol with random people while remaining creative and interesting. (2009)

Nichol wondered who chose the impressively minuscule font size for the documentation so that the small print appeared absolutely microscopic. He skimmed the first paragraph of the sixteen page Soldier Assistance Program application then skipped to the end where he filled his name on the more obviously vacant blanks. His sister had even tabbed the exact line for his name a separate color from the tab indicating a needed date. Hilde had done the work, she'd probably done the investigative reading as well.

When the acceptance letter showed up in the mail six months later, Nichol tossed the envelope onto the small pile of correspondence that constituted his in-box. He still neglected the time to read the note even to only verify the time and location to collect his compensation.

"You didn't tell me!" Mariemia screeched. She had become quite giraffe-like over the summer having sprouted toothpick arms and legs. Nichol had been employed as the pre-teen's bodyguard after an organized attempt on her life. The threat had decreased after a tragic last effort to kidnap Mariemia on route to her first year of school in the Sank Kingdom. During the strike, Nichol lost his partner, a woman he may or may not have loved.

Occasionally, his distractions came when his free moments tripped through memories of the good times Nichol had had with Sally Po.

"I didn't tell you what?" Nichol responded, pushing her feet from his desk but letting her stay in the desk chair that he seldom occupied.

Regardless, Mariemia used the momentum to stand and poked a black fingernail into his chest. She winked an eyelid covered in excessive glitter and her jaw dropped open with a flirtatious clicking sound from her tongue ring, "You've got a date!"

That was news to Nichol.

***

He nearly convinced himself he wouldn't mind a date and could certainly survive the encounter as Mariemia pillaged his closet fussing over his limited wardrobe. She clearly did not share the same opinion.

"What is this?" She held a piece of fabric that might have been a grey t-shirt or a well stretched sock. The material pinched between her thumb and forefinger as she held it at an arm's length distance and wrinkled her nose.

"Gift from my nephews," Nichol pulled at a dangling corner until the ironed-on letters "Unkie" were revealed.

"Only on the colonies would this be considered an acceptable... anything," Mariemia groaned. "So they'll never know if we throw this out."

"Hang on," Nichol kept hold of his corner and folding the shirt, returned it to a closet shelf.

"I suppose I'll have to buy you something new," she said, resigned but surprisingly cheerful. "Won't do to have you in the public eye looking less than your best!"

Which was when Nichol learned that the evening was a public affair, part interview and completely televised. He gathered the invitation and all sixteen pages of the photocopied application in order to review the terrible turn of events with his employer and Mariemia's guardian, Lady Une.

"I don't see what you want me to do, Nichol," the lady said after putting on her glasses and reading every line of tiny text. "You signed the papers. To decline their acceptance now would be..."

Nichol interrupted, "Doesn't this violate my contract? Confidentiality of a client or some sort of... covert..."

Une shook her head. "You've been in the headlines connected to our family. Not to mention that your face is in the background of every paparazzi snapshot of Mariemia. Everyone is going to know who you are soon enough if they don't already."

Nichol slouched further into his seat.

Une took off her glasses letting them swing in her hand by the end of one ear hook. She pressed the plastic into her lip. "You could always preface the event by saying you're already in a relationship."

"With who?" Nichol sat up eagerly, then grimaced at Une's expression.

Nichol left soon after, rueful and yet still appreciative that his most updated contract included the clause he'd written allowing no romantic dalliances with his employer.

***

The day of the date, Mariemia insisted Nichol practice what she called "friendly expressions" on his face and rehearse questions for polite conversation.

"You should start by telling her that she looks very nice."

"What if she doesn't?" Nichol pulled on the cuffs of the new clothes his young charge had purchased on his behalf. The tailoring had been perfect, and Nichol had to admit it was the best outfit he had ever owned.

"She will," Mariemia's tone allowed no argument. She pulled a comb through the hair along his temples and, after studying her handiwork, the girl retreated to his small bathroom. He listened to the sound of opening drawers and clinking objects.

"What if she's hideous?" Nichol called out, enjoying their banter.

"Shush," Mariemia called back. "Where is the aftershave I bought you?"

Nichol winced. He had meant to dispose of it eventually, not exactly appreciating her selection nor the accompanying basket labeled "men's manicure/pedicure kit". Even the wrapping smelled of sandalwood.

He surrendered, "Towel closet. Top shelf." It wasn't as if he was particularly out to impress anyone.

"Found it!" She didn't comment on its unopened state, but slapped his cheeks gleefully. "And if they bring up your time as a soldier, try to tell a happy story, alright? Not the one about how you put Aunt Dotty's husband in the brig on Barge. Or about the time the Preventers thought you were a spy. Something neutral..."

"Like mobile doll research?" Nichol scratched his head, which made the girl frown her pink lip-glossed mouth and reach to adjust his hair with a wave of overwhelmingly sandalwood scented fingers.

"No," she answered. "Just... talk about training. When you taught bright hopeful pilots."

"Who were mostly shot down."

Mariemia leaned back and studied her work with an approving nod. "I suppose neither of us should really worry. Relena is a diplomat and will know how to spin and cover all your blunders."

"Excuse me?" Nichol said, dumbly. "Who?"

Mariemia's head sank and she pinched the bridge of her nose. "You did read the invitation, didn't you?"

Of course, he hadn't.

***

Nichol didn't go places alone. He worked as Mariemia's shadow and constantly lived in her presence. Unless he was visiting Hilde, Heero and his nephews who insisted on sleeping on Nichol like a pile of kittens whenever he appeared on the colony.

Even arriving to the elegant restaurant didn't qualify as alone. Before his polished, new shoes touched the street outside the car, flashbulbs were igniting around him and voices were dictating prepared speeches into microphones. An assistant took his arm and steered him to a clear part of the front walkway where he half-bowed to the person he sincerely hoped was the retired Senator.

"Don't worry so much about the crowds," Relena, for it was her older and meticulously put-together self, reassured. "I have my own staff here to keep us safe from the unexpected. That's not your job tonight."

"As long as your body guards aren't old OZ buddies who have it out for me," Nichol mumbled, then realizing what he said half-lifted one arm as if he might recapture the words. His face blazed and he knew with certainty that rivers of sweat had sprung up between his shoulder blades.

Relena smiled, but her lips remained closed. He didn't know how to read her demeanor. Hilde rushed and burned through facial expressions with little regard for caution, a trait she shared with her half-brother. Dorothy smirked or pulled her lips wide like a wolf. Mariemia always looked as if she were chewing gum, even when she wasn't.

Just when he was convinced he'd irreversibly offended her, Relena's eyes actually sparkled. Repressed laughter or a glow from the still snapping lens flare, the generosity was the same when she spoke, "Let's see what's good on the menu, shall we?"

Diplomacy was never Nichol's strong point. He quite preferred being given orders. In being told what to do, he could direct and control his actions for that purpose. After a fashion, Relena learned to channel their conversation so that Nichol suspected she knew what he was going to say before he even said it.

He found it vastly annoying.

The food, however, was amazing. He savored one of the last bites of salmon when good sense left him. He asked, "Last I remember, you were an item with Quatre Winner."

"An item?" Relena seemed unfazed. "Friends, certainly, but nothing official. He's actually seeing someone else."

"If you'd asked me a few years ago, I would have said you and he would be the first of your generation to settle down together," Nichol prodded.

She shook her head, fingers tightening oh-so-slightly into her cloth napkin. "We had fun together but different ideas about the future."

"Couldn't agree on kids?" Nichol guessed, noting her eyebrows furrowing at the word.

"His family situation is unique and, understandably, leads him to some misgivings." Then her voice changed, taking on a note of mischief. "Why haven't you settled down?"

Nichol grabbed his glass and hastily swallowed half the ice water to avoid having to look into her eyes. Something of her kindness reminded him of Sally, but she wasn't Sally. Sally would never have climbed into the political spotlights that Relena lived inside. Sally had worked in the places where she could make the biggest difference with her hands. She touched individuals with her words. Relena spoke to nations.

Relena spoke to Nichol, "I'm glad you applied for the program. I'm glad that you won the invitation, too. Have you decided what to do with the compensation?"

He replied, happy for the change in subject, "I have nephews. I want to help them. Put it in a trust for education or something like that."

"That's noble of you," she smiled, pleased. "It's why we endure what we do. We fight waves and clouds and storms for the prospect of peace in the future. For our children."

"The spirit of the future generations will watch and judge our actions today," Nichol said to himself, remembering a long forgotten good friend. He startled, dropping his fork, when Relena murmured her agreement.

When they left, the same crowds of press strained against the ropes for the best snapshot of the evening's celebrities.

"You have to kiss me," she whispered. "For the cameras."

"Is that for future generations too?" Nichol laughed, feeling light-headed. He wondered if Mariemia had stayed up late watching the live footage. The fairytale was ending. He was ready to go home.

"It's what they expect from us," Relena tipped her head.

So he did.


End file.
